


Like a Horse and Carriage

by mwestbelle



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-30
Updated: 2011-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwestbelle/pseuds/mwestbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank was raised wild, on a merchant vessel that sailed all around the world. When he returns home, an orphan, he is wed to a man with money and name that he has never met. A Victorian AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Horse and Carriage

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Little historical value, ridiculous self-indulgence
> 
> Written for bandomficathon. Thanks to sparkfrost for the beta! Title and cuttext is from "Love and Marriage."
> 
> (Originally posted February 7, 2009)

As soon as Frank was old enough to walk, his father had taken him on one of his voyages. He was a merchant, not wealthy (at that time) but well-respected. He loved traveling to exotic places, showing his wares and finding new ones, and he wanted his son to grow up with the same appreciation for the world. Frank, a wide-eyed toddling little child, was always underfoot, stumbling around on legs that were unsteady enough on dry land. The sailors both loved and hated him, loved to swing him up onto their shoulders while his father was doing ledgers in their cabin and help him peer, laughing, over the rail down into the churning blue sea below, and hated when he would slip on the freshly washed deck and wail like a banshee until one of the mates came and cursed them for upsetting their most regular and well-paying passenger’s child. Frank felt no such dichotomy in his young mind and heart: he _loved_ the sea.

Frank always accompanied his father on voyages after that, against his mother’s protests that her son would never learn properly without a school or at least a governess, neither of which can be found on the waves. His father always laughed, and kissed her, and told her that the world was full of greater knowledge than any school and prettier than any governess, and less expensive too. His mother died when he was ten, while he and his father were away. It made him sad, in a kind of thoughtful way. He knew that he had lost something very important, but his clearest memories of his mother were a mouth set into a thin line and quiet anger that was more upsetting than shouting. He had never lived with her for more than a few months at a time, and in his times at home, he often felt marooned, as though he were being punished for some heinous deed and left alone on land, where nothing ever changed and no interesting things ever happened.

His father took it much harder, though Frank didn’t know it until he died a few years after her, wasting away and blaming himself. Frank was thirteen then, and he had no head for numbers, no interest in burying himself in the dusty ledger books with their unending lines of sums that his father had often been prisoner to. So he ordered his father’s footman (who was his now, really) to take all those books to the home of his uncle, who was also a merchant, if a less successful one who sent agents and partners out to explore the world and preferred to remain in his dark study. He could handle the books, Frank had no doubt, and they were family, even though Frank had only met him once, a long while ago, and remembered only a tall, severe man, who looked a bit like his mother in that his mouth was tight and serious. Frank felt no guilt when he went down to the harbor the afternoon of his father’s funeral and crawled back onto a ship.

He sailed nonstop for four years. Glorious years, where he found that as magical as traveling had been with his father on his merchant trips, it was even more of a rush with nothing but your own feet to guide you. He used the coins he had taken from his father’s pocket (the purse was rightfully his now, and he had no patience to wait for the lawyers to settle it out while he was grounded) to buy things: fabrics, and little trinkets, jewelry, and anything he found that caught his eye, that he thought he might be able to sell back home. He got on whatever ship took his fancy--perhaps it was going someplace he would have liked to go, and perhaps the name made him smile, or perhaps the figurehead was a very pretty mermaid and he just couldn’t let her sail away without him.

It was on a trip to one of the places he and his father had gone together many times before that they found him. He had come out of a sudden rush of nostalgia, standing in the port, and he was not expecting anyone there to know him. But they did.

He must, his uncle’s message, dated nearly six months ago, said, return home at once. There were delicate and crucial matters to discuss, and he must come home.

Frank did not like being told what to do, and he did not want to go home, not for perhaps another four years or so. But his uncle was family, and he had asked a favor when he had the books sent to him, and favors were to be repaid in kind.

His home felt strange to him, stranger than any of the wild and savage places he had visited. He walked over the cobblestones with unease, and into his uncle’s house, which was just as tall, thin, and serious as the man himself.

The butler led him to the study, and he saw his uncle sitting at the desk. Frank knew that he had changed, grown from a young boy into a young man, gotten stronger and leaner, if not much taller. Four years had done a lot to him.

His uncle looked exactly the same. “Franklin, I’m so glad you’re here.”

He didn’t sound glad, but Frank walked over to sit in the chair opposite his uncle. It was hard and uncomfortable, somehow more uncomfortable than a threadbare hammock or the splintery wood of a ship’s railing. “Hello, uncle.” He waited for a “hello” in return, or perhaps an offer of tea, sandwiches. It had been a long journey, and he was hungry. None came. He shifted in his seat. “I hear you have business to discuss with me?”

“Oh, yes.” His uncle looked the closest to happy that Frank had ever seen him. Frank did not like it. “I wanted, first, to give you my warmest congratulations.”

Frank’s uncle’s warmest congratulations, Frank thought uncharitably, were approximately as warm as the north sea in the dead of winter. “For what, uncle?”

His uncle smiled, and it was unpleasant through and through. “Your engagement, of course.”

*

Frank’s uncle, you must understand, was not a bad man. He was not a good man, not in the slightest, but he was not wicked. Imagine a man, whose beloved sister has married a man who is perhaps a little beneath her. He makes up for it with charm, and wit, and he’s a business man, sure to come into wealth soon. Still, as her brother, this man is never quite good enough. Then, the sister has a child. A healthy, beautiful little boy. It should be her pride and joy, raising her child, teaching him the way of society, watching him grow into a handsome young man. But then, just when the child is starting to enter that wonderful time of learning, her husband whisks him away, onto a ship headed away. It does not matter where, really, because away is away, and her son is being taken far away.

You already know how this story ends, so the details can be spared, but suffice to say, the sister turns sad and bitter and lonely, and her brother despairs. And she dies, and he is distraught. Her husband, the brother thinks, shows little enough mourning and little enough respect, and is off again. The one to blame for her death, and he had neither the courage nor the common decency to make amends. And then he is dead too, and the brother thinks that perhaps the scales are even now, and now he will take in his sister’s son, his little nephew who he has never really been allowed to know. He will teach him, and it will be his offering to his dead sister, raising her child well.

But his nephew, it seems, is much like his father, and runs away, leaving a heavy pile of responsibilities for the uncle, and nothing but more disappointment.

So when this man has the opportunity to make a match, a good one, a strong one, and if, perhaps, it will tie down his wild little bird of a nephew, if, perhaps, it will teach him something about responsibility and consequences, well, then. Would he turn it down? Would you?

*

“Engagement?” Frank said, unable to keep scorn and laughter out of his voice. “Thank you, but I am not engaged.”

“Oh, but you are.” His uncle shuffled some papers on his desk. “To a very well-off young man, with a title as well. You’re very fortunate.”

“But I’m--a young man?”

“He’s quite pleasing to the eye, or so I’ve heard. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

“I won’t.” Frank frowned, not willing to accept any of this. It was all nonsense. “I’m not ready to be married, and certainly not--”

“You need him,” Frank’s uncle interrupted. “You need his title, and his money, and you’re very fortunate indeed that his family was even willing to consider you, wildling that you are.”

“I have money,” Frank said. “I. Father’s money--”

“Has dwindled in your absence.”

Frank stared at him. “I trusted you. I. I left Father’s business in your care and I trusted you to keep custody of it for me.”

“Times are hard, Franklin.” His uncle made the same tight-mouthed expression that Frank vaguely remembered on his mother’s face. “I’ve hardly been able to watch after my own affairs, much less your extraordinarily tangled ones.”

“I can’t marry a man. I’ll marry someone if I have to but. What about children?”

His uncle arched his eyebrows. “You won’t have any. Unless you are aware of something I am not.”

“My father’s.” Frank looked down at his lap. “I don’t want my father to die with me.”

“It’s all settled, I’m afraid. The wedding is a week from Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?” Frank looked up sharply at that. “That’s. No, I can’t. I won’t do that.”

“It would be a great slight on your father’s name if you were to break off an engagement. Especially one with as fine a family as the Ways.”

Frank could feel dread closing a cold hand around his heart. He‘d been _free_. He had enjoyed it, yes, but he never thought about it. What his life would be if he was at home, about _responsibilities_ that were waiting for him all along. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin his family‘s name, and it was dawning, with a bitter taste in the back of his throat, that he truly had no choice in this. He could not run, he could not break the engagement. He would be wed in hardly more than a week, and then he would be tied down for the rest of his life. “I don’t even know him.”

“He’s a fine young man, I hear. I’m sure you’ll be well cared for and very comfortable.”

The absence of “and happy” was heavy in Frank’s chest.

*

The wedding was brief. Frank could hardly remember it, lost in a feverish whirl of nerves and confusion, just flashes: dark hair, a crying mother, the gold ring with “GW&FI” engraved on the inside of the band. Frank looked down at the ring; strange to know that this slim bit of gold encircling his finger was as strong as any shackle or chain. He was stuck.

His childhood home had been sold. Though he considered the sea to be the true home of his childhood, his father’s house was still where his parent’s things were, all of their memories, and it was gone. All of it put into boxes, somewhere in his uncle’s cellars. They would, his uncle promised, be shipped to the Way’s country home, where he and his new groom were expected to live, until a suitable permanent residence could be found for them.

There would be no honeymoon. Just the step from freedom to a cage. Frank twisted his ring and swore to himself. Everyone told him how lucky he was--family he hadn’t seen since he was small, if at all, friends of his uncle’s who he had never met--to have made such a fine match. He would be cared for, live in a fine house, be married to a man from a fine family. None of it made him feel any better. The only comfort that he had was from the man who drove his coach--he rode to the country house by himself, because Gerard wished to say farewell to his dear brother in private, and would not _dream_ of delaying Frank’s journey--who gave him a real statement about Gerard, the man, not his family, his money, his horses, his wealth.

“Quiet boy,” the driver said. Frank had insisted on riding up top with him--he couldn’t bring himself to ride inside when this could be his last chance to feel the wind in his hair--and the driver had taken this as some offer of friendship. “Always thought he was a little strange. He don’t get out much, always buried in the library.”

“Oh?” Frank was more intrigued in this than the litany about the proper maintenance of coach wheels, and how difficult it was to get a real stand-up footman these days. “Is there. Is he. I mean to say--”

“Something wrong with him?” The driver shook his head. “Nah, sweet as pudding and terrible smart. Top of his class at university, you know.” Frank hadn’t known. “Just a bit odd. I don’t suppose he cares much for the company of others.”

An interesting quality to have in a husband. Frank nodded, as though agreeing, and when the driver turned his discussion back to the horses, he let his mind wander. It could be pleasant, to have a husband interested in books and being alone. He hadn’t been sure how he would act the part of a dutiful husband--as the younger and less well-off of the pair of them, Frank had no doubt that he was to be paraded about as much as any bejeweled wife would be--but perhaps he would be left alone after that.

The country house, when they finally rode up to it, was much larger than Frank had anticipated. It was easily twice the size of his father’s house and considering that this was just a country residence (which, if the gossips at the wedding were to be believed, was in fact _second best_ of the Way’s country holdings), Frank was heartily reminded that he had married into money.

The staff was not waiting outside the front door where the driver dropped him off, nor were they inside the entrance hall. They must have been told that the newly weds had been delayed, and not guessed that Frank might come without his husband. It was fine with Frank, better, truly. He went up the stairs and wandered through the halls, peering into open doorways. This was his home now, in the legal sense at least. It was a fine home, tastefully-decorated and not so extravagant that he couldn’t stand it. He still felt phenomenally out of place.

He was alone until a maid with dark hair emerged from one of the rooms in front of him and nearly dropped her dust rag when she saw him.

“You must be--but I thought you weren’t due until evening!”

Frank shrugged, unused to having people planning for him. “I came a bit early.”

She made a face that immediately smoothed out. “I’m dreadfully sorry, sir, everything isn’t quite ready yet, but if you’ll let me show you to the grand salon, then--”

“No.” Frank bit his lip. He didn’t know if he could take the grand salon. “I. I’m very tired, and I’d appreciate it if you’d just show me to my room.”

“But sir--”

“And you don’t have to tell anyone that I’ve arrived.” She definitely made a face at that, and Frank shook his head. “I’m tired. I want to be at my best to meet everyone.”

She seemed to accept that explanation, and she nodded politely before heading off down the hall. He followed, and she led him to a set of double doors at the end of another branched off hallway. She curtsied to him, but seemed to take his wishes seriously, and hurried back off down the hall. He was grateful to her for that.

The bedroom was large, exceedingly large to a boy who’d spent most of his life sleeping in bunks and hammocks on ships. He felt rather like he’d entered some strange world where he had suddenly become very small--the bed itself seemed giant, the armoire was immense, and there was a bay window with a windowseat that seemed to span the entire wall.

He’d left his luggage with the proper matrimonial coach that Gerard would be taking alone, and he found himself wishing he’d at least packed a valise. He couldn’t bring himself to crawl beneath the pristinely white sheets with his dusty clothes on, but stripping nude brought to mind no end of humiliating mishaps. In the end he compromised, stripping off his trousers and coat and climbing into bed--for it truly was climbing, and quite worth it he discovered; it was easily the softest bed he’d ever been in--in his socks, shorts, and half-unbuttoned shirt.

He hadn’t meant to truly sleep. His exhaustion had been only an excuse, and since the maid was likely to at least inform the butler of his arrival, he could feign slumber fairly easily from the bed. But perhaps he knew too little of himself, or the bed was indeed that comfortable, for he was asleep in moments.

He was awakened when one of the gas lamps flared to life and someone said “Oh.” He didn’t move, or even open his eyes. It had to be Gerard, and it would be hardly more than a moment before he crawled into bed, nudged Frank awake, took his due. Frank couldn’t deny being just the slightest bit terrified of his “duties,” as his uncle had so dismissively called it. He had lived amongst the sailors, most of whom had openly taken pleasure with whores in port, and some who, rather more covertly, took pleasure out at sea with their fellows. But though he sailed with them, and in some of his solitary travels took fares on smaller boats where he slept below decks with the men, he had never been one of them. No one had placed a heavy, purposeful hand on his shoulder, and he always managed to disappear to an expatriate club where his “proper” accent was enough to make him a celebrated guest before any over enthusiastic sailor got the idea to drag him to a brothel.

Gerard shuffled around in the room for too long. Frank wanted to open his eyes, feign waking or just peek out over the covers piled on top of him, but he forced himself to remain calm. Eventually, the restless footsteps and the rustle of clothes and papers stopped, and the light was blown out.

The bed dipped, and the muscles in Frank’s back went tense, fighting not to move away when Gerard climbed in the bed--their marriage bed, and Frank had no desire for what was about to happen, not even curiosity could lighten the sick weight in his belly. He waited for the hand--would Gerard grab for his shoulder, turning him over, or would he slide his hand down to Frank’s thigh, forsake any thread of politeness, and be delighted to find it bare? He wished that he had the long nightshirt that his uncle had sent a maid to buy for him--it was shapeless and too thick for his tastes, and it stopped just at his knees, making them look tiny and knobbly. He hated it, but he would have felt more protected in it, even it would be just as easy for Gerard to shove up and out of the way.

He waited, breath coming short and tight in his chest, eyes squeezed shut and flinching at every breath and movement from behind him. Any moment, he knew, any moment he would feel hot breath on his neck and a hot hand on his skin.

The sun was shining when he woke up, and he rolled over away from the light before thinking about it. He tensed back toward his original position and opened his eyes, but he was alone in the bed.

His shorts were untouched, so he hadn’t been ravished in his sleep--not that he thought that was likely to happen, but he’d heard some very colorful tales at sea, and sometimes he wasn’t sure which ones were even remotely true. He crawled out of bed and found his trunks were stacked neatly in front of the armoire, obviously waiting to be unloaded.

He dressed himself, leaving his sleep-crumpled clothing on the bed after a bit of internal argument, and took a deep breath before leaving the bedroom. Part of him wanted to curl up in bed for as long as he could, but now that this house was his home and his only source for adventure, it would be best to learn how it worked.

As the driver had predicted, he found Gerard when he found the library. It was a huge, sweeping room, far bigger than a library at the second-best country house needed to be for fashion’s sake. However, it was in near complete disarray, with stacks of books haphazard on the floor, a few cascading lines of books on the floor where the stacks had fallen in the past, and Gerard was curled up on a couch with books at his feet, books on either side of him, and two open books, one balanced on each knee. Frank got the feeling that the library was not here for the sake of looking fashionably well-read.

Gerard made the same surprised “Oh” as he’d made last night when he finally glanced up to see Frank watching him from the doorway. This time, Frank could see two spots of color rising in the top of his cheeks, and how wide his eyes went. Gerard looked quite different than he had at the wedding--he’d been pressed, immaculately pale and beautiful with his small, pointed features, dark hair just a shade more than stylishly long, but in a charmingly rebellious way. This Gerard was nearly as much of a mess as his library. He hadn’t physically changed so much as… _unwound_. He was dressed in just a buttoned white shirt with the cuffs undone, and he had smudges of ink on his hands, and even a few on his cheeks and nose and around his mouth. He had looked almost ethereal at the wedding, but now all his delicate features seemed slightly mismatched, though in a pleasing way. His mouth was wider than Frank had been able to tell before, and a bit crooked, his eyes brighter and his pixy’s nose looked a little more snub than magical in this light. His hair was a catastrophe.

Gerard fumbled with the books on his knees, managing to shunt them aside and climb a little shakily to his feet, weaving with practiced ease between the stacks of books surrounding him. When he stood in front of Frank he looked at him for near a minute before smiling, one side of his mouth lifting further than the other. “I, er. I trust you slept well?”

“Yes, thank you.” Frank was at a loss for how to deal with this new husband of his, who went from a cultured nobleman to an ink-smeared vagabond (if quite a handsome one) in the span of a night and who did not try to enjoy his marital right on his wedding night. Politeness was how he had learned to more or less stay on the appropriate level with his uncle, so he would try that here. It was better to err on the side of caution, since his manners weren’t as meticulously formed as they should be. “You have a lovely home.”

“Oh? Oh, yes. Thank you.” Gerard flushed a little more, and ducked his head. “It’s not much, I know. But, uh, it’s quite charming, I should think? And there’s the library--” he cut himself off abruptly, just as his voice was starting to get really pleased. He gave Frank a careful look. “I don’t suppose you care much for books?”

He didn’t. Not out of any disdain for scholars or for pen and paper that he’d felt from some of the wealthier men who had visited his uncle’s house while he waited to be wed. But paper did not do well on the open sea, or in the wet tropics that he’d spent as much of his time as possible in. Truthfully, he had never satisfactorily learned to read. He knew his letters and his numbers, of course, and how to write his name. But when the reader his father had been teaching him out of disappeared out of their cabin on some voyage or another, neither of them had missed it particularly badly and his education had more or less ended. He had practiced reading notes and letters that his father had sent and received, and, if given a few moments to remember, he was sure he would be fine. But he’d never read anything longer than a letter in his life, and he had no real desire to. All of that was too much to say, and Gerard was looking at him so hopefully, so Frank had to give the only answer he had. “No, I’m afraid not.”

Gerard’s face fell, and he glanced back towards his couch. “Oh, well. That’s a pity. But there’s still the stables. And, uh, the grounds are very nice, I think. You‘re more than welcome to go riding whenever you like, of course.”

Frank said “thank you” and did not say that he never learned to ride a horse. Gerard was still looking back at the books he’d abandoned, in a way he clearly thought was surreptitious, and Frank took pity on him. “Please, don’t let me keep you from your reading.”

Gerard’s entire body practically twitched towards the couch, and his mouth was an unhappy slanted line. “But, uh, I couldn’t be rude. After all you’re--we’re--”

Frank couldn’t stand to hear him say it. “I think I shall continue exploring.” Gerard nodded, obviously grateful, and Frank turned to go. On a whim, he turned back. Gerard was already on the couch, putting his feet up and propping a book with expert ease up against each thigh. “Will I see you for dinner tonight?”

Gerard started and one of the books slid off onto the couch. He smiled, though. “Oh. Yes. If you wish it, I‘ll be there.”

He wasn’t there. After a day wandering the halls and grounds, nodding to servants and peeking out of windows, Frank was starved. He should have stopped in the kitchen to ask for a luncheon, but he’d been so distracted by his exploration he hadn’t thought of it. The dining room, which he’d been sure to memorize the location of once he’d found it, was empty. The table was set, and there were two chairs at either end of the long table, but it was empty.

He went and sat down, a little nervous, and when the servants came, it was to set platter after platter of food in front of him, and take away the other place setting.

“Mr. Way is in the midst of a very important text,” one of the footmen told Frank, saying it as though he knew it by rote, “and is not to be disturbed. Not even for supper.”

 _Not even for his husband?_ Frank thought, bitterly. The food was excellent, hearty and warm, but he found he had little stomach for eating it alone. He forced himself to eat two helpings of the stew and three of the steaming dinner rolls because he remembered how hungry he was in actuality, but the food sat heavy in his belly.

He went to bed, feeling sick and exhausted, curled around his sore belly. When he woke up in the night, he could hear heavy breath behind him and knew Gerard was with him. When he woke in the morning, he was alone again.

Thus it continued for the first weeks of Frank’s marriage. He wandered the grounds mostly, taking naps under trees and sometimes--when he was quite sure no one was about--taking thrilling swims in the small creek on the property, cold and bare. He saw Gerard if he ventured to the library for a few moments of distracted chatter, and sometimes Gerard would find the time to come to supper. Every night, lying in bed, Frank would feel Gerard crawl into bed with him. He never reached out, never took his due, and in the morning, he was always gone. They had not touched since they kissed lightly on their wedding day.

Until one night, when Frank woke in a fever. He thought that he must be ill, hot all over and sweating, with more heat blowing against the nape of his neck. But when he woke more fully, he realized that it was Gerard, breathing hot air against the back of his throat, and it was Gerard’s cock, hard against the back of his thigh, that was making him sweat. He lay there, feeling and breathing, still half-asleep, confused and aroused and terrified. Gerard whimpered and thrust his hips shallowly against Frank, cock digging into the fleshy part of Frank’s thigh. He did it again, and then again, and then with a gasp of cold air, he could feel Gerard wake, pressed against his back.

There was a long moment where neither of them breathed. Then he heard Gerard make a truly piteous soft sound and pull slowly away from him. Frank knew in that instant that Gerard would leave his bed, and if Frank allowed him to do that, he would never come back. It should have been a relief, but the sudden terror that gripped him rolled him over so he was facing Gerard.

Gerard’s eyes were wide as an owl’s, bright in the moonlit dark, and he looked sweaty as Frank felt. But he also looked miserable, and terrified, and ashamed. He moved, an instant after Frank turned around, and Frank knew it was to hold his hands protectively over where his cock must be pushing against his nightshirt.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again.” Frank’s first instinct was to grab for Gerard’s wrist, to hold him, and he did. He didn’t think how close he was to having a hand on Gerard’s cock until Gerard shuddered and tried to pull away from him. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“We’re married.“ Frank slid his hand down to cover Gerard’s, pressing down gently until Gerard whimpered. “You should be here.”

“But. But, I--”

Frank pulled Gerard’s hands away and pushed the covers down past their waists. He glanced down at the straining front of Gerard’s nightclothes and then up at his flushed, miserable face. Slowly, carefully, he curled his fingers in the hem of Gerard’s nightshirt, partway down his thighs, and pulled. Gerard didn’t struggle, his hands fell to his sides when Frank got closer, and he bit his lip hard when Frank pulled the shirt carefully over the arc of his cock against the fabric.

He stopped when the shirt was over the rise of Gerard’s belly, and he knew that the marriage bed had very specific expectations for him, and thanks to his days at sea, he even knew what they were, which was better than most new husbands and wives got. But knowing didn’t make it less scary for him, and he’d brought himself to fruition with his hand many times in the past. _That_ , at least, he could do.

Gerard’s cock was just a little thicker than his own, but it felt startlingly different in his hand. It might have been the unexpected roll of Gerard’s hips, the hitch of breath and quiver of thighs that weren’t his own. It was strange, but it was good. Very good, and Frank could feel his own cock, partially filled since he felt the press of Gerard against his thigh, thickening under his nightshirt with every pass of Gerard’s hot flesh across his palm.

It took only a few pulls before Gerard was arching his back, spurting over Frank’s hand with a ragged sound torn from his throat. Gerard collapsed back against the pillows, and Frank watched him, sticky cooling mass unpleasant in his hand and cock pressed needy against his belly.

He waited, breath caught in his throat while Gerard panted noisily next to him, dark hair plastered to his pink forehead with sweat. His cock throbbed for it, and every little heave of Gerard chest surged low in his groin. Finally, finally, Gerard opened his eyes, looked at Frank.

They were sad. “Frank, I. I can’t. I. I should never.” He struggled to pull his nightshirt back down over his belly and spent cock, and Frank felt his own cock wilting. “I should never have married someone like you. I can’t.”

 _Someone like you_ rang loud in Frank’s head, like church bells that were too close. Gerard was looking at him with his pitiful sad eyes, and he never should have married _someone like Frank_. Frank was out of bed before Gerard could say another word, and out of the room. He was wearing just his nightshirt, but he couldn’t last another moment..

 _I should never have married someone like you._ Frank headed down the stairs, reckless even in the dark. He shouldn’t have thought that just because Gerard was shy and bookish that he was different from anyone else. Of course Frank wouldn’t be good enough. He was a merchant’s son, raised wild. He had little money, no good name, no real skills or accomplishments. He didn’t know what had possessed Gerard to choose him in the first place; it seemed cruel, really, that Gerard had known all along that they would not be right together and wed him anyway. Now he was stuck. He had resigned himself to being caged, grounded, before. But meeting Gerard had made him stupidly hopeful that if not a love match, they could at least be friendly outside of the bedroom. And now Gerard did not even wish to lower himself to being friendly _in_ the bedroom. At least, not if Frank’s pleasure was at all involved. Upset, he wiped his hand against the fabric covering his hip.

The night air hit him with a cool blast, and Frank didn’t bother pulling the heavy door shut behind him before running out into the grounds. He knew them well now, and he ran towards the little stand of trees near the creek. Every footfall and lungful of cold air said _whore_ , because that’s what he was, wasn’t it? He’d been attached to Gerard for his money, and he wasn’t to interact with him socially, and once Gerard reached his fruition, it was over. To his mind, he was as much a whore as any other he’d heard of.

A large tree grew near the creek, and soft grass grew underneath the tree. Frank had spent many lazy afternoons lying here, drying off in the sun. He thought of it fondly, as a safe, private place. It was not so pleasant now, curling in on himself with grass prickling his bare legs. It was much colder at night than in the day, and Frank was less clothed than he would have been otherwise. All his flesh, even that under his nightshirt, was covered in goose pimples, and he wrapped his arms around his torso to hug the heat he had left to himself.

He did not fall asleep out there on the lawn in the cold, but he did drift into a hazy muted consciousness. He saw Gerard’s sad eyes and heard him say _someone like you_ over and over and over again. He also saw Gerard crying out and spilling into Frank’s hand, remembered the feel of his flesh, hard and hot and wanting. But every warm memory had to end with _someone like you_ , and Frank could find no comfort in any of it.

He paid no mind to the rising of the sun, lying in the shadow of the tree. With the sun up, it was warmer, and Frank managed to fall asleep. He was tired down to his bones, and he nearly passed out, sleeping the dark and dreamless sleep of the exhausted.

When he awoke, there was a man looking at him. Frank started, scrambling back towards the tree, and the man pushed his spectacles up his nose.

“You seemed taller at the wedding.” Frank was painfully aware that he had slept outside on the ground. His nightshirt was grass-stained and sweaty, and it was a _nightshirt_ that showed his knobby knees. His hair must be a fright. The man shook his head, though, before Frank said anything. “Don’t worry about it, looks like you had a rough night. I don’t mind.”

Frank stood, a little shaky, and tried to look as presentable as possible when he knew his tiny, dirty knees were still wobbling a bit. “Have we been introduced?”

“Not formally.” The man smiled, just a little, at that and he gave Frank a quick once over. “But since you‘re my brother-in-law, I thought I could dispense with some formality.”

Frank leaned back against the tree, heart hard as a stone in his chest. It was Michael, of course it was, the beloved younger brother. Here, no doubt, to mediate, since Gerard couldn’t stand the sight of someone like Frank any longer.

Michael must have noticed Frank’s deflation, because he shook his head. “I hear there was some kind of…something last night. Gee hasn’t been really clear on the details.” He tilted his head. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for all of this.”

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” Frank found himself saying. He was faintly taken aback by his own forthrightness, but Michael didn’t have much of an expression at all. “Your brother and I. We should never have been married.”

“That’s what you told him, hmm? Explains why he’s such a goddamned wreck.”

“I told him?” Frank straightened up, powered by his righteous indignation. “ _He_ told _me_ , thank you very much, and--he’s a wreck?”

Michael looked at Frank blankly for a long moment before shaking his head minutely. “That really explains it, of course. Such a martyr.” Frank was terribly confused and didn’t think anything had been satisfactorily explained or, really, explained at all. Michael blinked at him. “You should go back to the house. Talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to see me.”

Michael laughed, then, and he sounded far more like a boy than he looked, and Frank thought that maybe he saw a glimpse of why Gerard doted on his little brother so. “Believe me, he does. More than you know, if I’m right.” He tilted his head back and blinked at Frank through his spectacles. “I usually am, you know.”

The walk back to the house was slow and tortuous. Frank felt heavier than he had last night; at least then he had been powered by a certain frantic sorrow, the need to escape. Walking back to the home he had fled felt rather like a death march, and his feet were solid with nerves.

Gerard was, naturally, in the library. He did not, though, appear to be reading at all. There was a book on his knee, but it was closed, and he wasn’t even looking at it. Simply staring off into the distant nowhere. Frank cleared his throat, and Gerard blinked and turned his head. The instant he saw Frank, Gerard’s eyes went round and afraid, and Frank thought he had made a horrible mistake in coming here.

“You’re here.” There were dark marks under Gerard’s eyes that did not look like his usual ink smudges.

Frank nodded. “Michael told me you wanted to see me.”

“He did. Of course he did,” Gerard muttered to himself, and Frank stood awkwardly half inside the doorway and half out, afraid to enter Gerard’s space. “Well, it’s for the best, I suppose. I do want to apologize.” The last sentence was the only one directed at Frank, and it took him a moment to realize it.

The appropriate response, he knew, was there was no reason to apologize. Gerard had not done anything wrong, Frank was perfectly fine. “What for?”

“I.” Gerard closed his hands over the spine of the book. “I’ve made some…errors, in judgment. They were not meant to do you harm. I. I never meant that.”

“No?” was all Frank could find to say. Gerard flushed, quick, and he looked sharply down at the book in his hands.

“Of course not. I. It was wrong of me to. To attempt to. I shouldn’t have. I know that I should have stayed my distance, but. Sometimes I couldn’t resist.”

“Yes,” Frank said, voice as blank as his mind felt. “I’m irresistible.”

Gerard looked back up at him as sharply as he’d looked down, and Frank saw for the first time that Gerard’s blush wasn’t just embarrassment--there was anger there. “I’m _sorry_. I’m not beautiful, and. I haven’t done anything with my life, I know that I’m terribly, terribly dull to you, but I have every intention of treating you with courtesy and I’ll ask you do the same for me. Even if you can’t bring yourself to. To.”

“Me?” Frank stared, and the rest was too ridiculous for him to even wrap his mind around enough to respond to, but the last. The last made him angry too. “I offered myself to you as is proper, and _you_ are the one who declines to take his marital right.”

The flush spread down below Gerard‘s collar, and his mouth was tight at the corners. “Oh, yes. Because I want nothing more than to make myself an even greater source of amusement to you. So I might become some panting, sweating beast on your back, playing at lovemaking while you lie motionless and think of how pathetic I am. I‘ll thank you, sir, but that is not what I wish for in my marriage bed.”

“Why would I find you pathetic?” Frank swallowed hard, and he was honestly confused now, anger draining slowly away. Gerard ducked his head again, and Frank could see how white his knuckles were against the brown leather binding of the book.

“Don’t tease me. Please. I know you’ve traveled the world, and. And you’ve known more pleasures than I could ever dream to even read about. I won’t. I won’t make a fool of myself. I know I could never hope to compare.”

“I’ve never found pleasure in a hand that was not my own,” Frank said, quietly, afraid of what Gerard might say. “So. So far, you’re ahead of me.”

Gerard goggled at him, varying between what seemed to be disbelief, and shock. “I. Please, Frank, do not tease. Is that true, can it be true?” Frank nodded and Gerard’s hands opened, book dropping out of his lap and onto the floor. “But, you. You’ve traveled the world.”

“I have.” Frank wet his lips and shook his head. “But. I came to you whole. As is proper. I swear it.” But he knew, even as he said it, that it was not about his purity for Gerard. That was not the issue at hand and, strange as it felt, Frank forced himself to speak again. “You’re. You’re terribly better off than I am. I can understand why you’d find nothing intriguing or worthwhile in the wild son of a merchant.”

“Nothing intriguing? But Frank, you’re. You’ve seen so much.”

Frank shook his head again. “I’ve read no great works, no papers, nothing at all. My manners are shoddy, and I haven’t even a good name. What could I possibly offer you, with your culture and your books and your fine home and family?”

“You’re the one who has everything,” Gerard insisted. “I have never done anything, only read everything. My life is dull, and empty, and lonely. Yours is filled with life, and excitement, it‘s everything I‘ve dreamt of.” He paused, considering what he just said, and pursed his lips with an expression of great contemplation. “Frank. I suspect we’ve been terribly foolish.”

“I agree,” Frank said, and kissed him on his worried, pursed lips. It was a good deal better than their kiss on their wedding day, and a far sight lengthier too.

That night, Gerard followed him to their bedroom when he headed up, neither of them the least bit tired. It was thrilling, to stand on one side of the room, undoing his cuffs and collar, and watching Gerard do the same. Much nicer than waking up in the middle of the night with Gerard suddenly in bed with him.

“Which was extremely off-putting,” Frank told Gerard, watching with rapt attention as Gerard finished unbuttoning his shirt, so it hangs open, revealing a swath of bare skin.

Gerard flushed a little and gave him a long suffering look. Gerard was remarkably good at long suffering looks for someone who had been married for just over a month and had formed a relationship with his husband within the past half a day. “I just wanted to be near you.”

“There are better ways to go about it,” Frank said, and it was meant to be light, but Gerard was slipping out of his shirt, and his eyes were dark.

“I’m sure there are.” Gerard came closer, and he had ink smudged at his temples where Frank now knew he rubbed his stained fingers while he was thinking particularly hard about what he was reading. He had none of the definition of the shirtless sailors who pulled themselves up and down the rigging; rather, he had the approximate coloring and firmness of a pillow. His cheeks were pink, and his hair was still a mess, and Frank had never seen anything more marvelous in all his life. “I intend to claim my right as husband, Frank.”

Frank beamed, breath coming just as shallow as that first night in bed, out of anticipation and not dread. “I am glad to offer you everything I have.”

Gerard kissed him then, and it was better than their kiss in the library, longer and sweeter. He was divested of his clothing deliciously slowly, until he was bare. He had never been shy of his body, it was his and no one else’s business, but he flushed with anticipation.

They both had a great deal of theoretical knowledge, and absolutely no practical experience with what they were meant to do. Gerard, in a fit of gentlemanly manners, offered to allow Frank to take him, clearlly still guilty about the way he had treated Frank the night before. But Frank had no interest in fiddling with new places and strange sensations tonight. For the first time he felt truly _wed_ , and he wanted nothing more than to be close.

That was their compromise in the end, wrapped around each other, rocking slow and sweet together. Gerard kept gasping, and Frank kept giggling at Gerard’s gasps, until the two of them were snickering messes, writhing against each other like snakes. Gerard reached his completion first, gasping again through the sniggers and spilling over Frank’s belly.

Frank was prepared to keep working his hips in needy rolls against Gerard’s hip, even if Gerard happened to drift off to sleep. But Gerard reached down and wrapped a hand around Frank’s cock and whispered, in a voice husky enough to make Frank keen, “I owe you a debt of pleasure.” The slide of his hand was shyer than his dark eyes promised, but Frank arched to his touch and Gerard gained confidence. And so Frank came by another’s hand for the first time in his life.

Gerard kissed him awake the next morning, and they ate a lazy and far too late breakfast together when they finally stumbled giggling out of bed. None of the servants seemed distressed, and why would they be? They were finally acting as a newly married couple should.

When Frank was sure he could not possibly fit another sausage into his poor belly, he shifted, groaning a little. The food was excellent, and he hadn’t managed to really enjoy it before; he’d always been a poor eater alone, so the past weeks had him living on bird‘s rations. If he continued like this with Gerard, he feared he would need to consult a tailor. It was just his imagination that the buttons on his shirt were straining, he told himself firmly, and he rested a hand on his belly and smiled over at Gerard, who was looking anxious in his seat. “You can go to the library. I don’t mind.”

Gerard looked at him for a long moment before blurting, “Come with me?” Frank blinked at him, and Gerard kept speaking, words tumbling from his lips in a desperate rush. “I know you don’t care for books, but. It would be pleasant, to have each other’s company, unless you’d rather have time to yourself. That’s perfectly understandable, I wouldn’t dream of--”

Frank’s smile spread a little wider towards his ears. “Of course I will. I must warn you, though, I may need to be rolled there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The tips of Gerard’s ears were red where they peeked out of the tangle of his hair, but he smiled. Frank was beginning to rather treasure Gerard’s smiles.

In the library, Frank sat on the couch while Gerard puttered around, picking books up off of stacks without looking closely at them, which lead Frank to believe that perhaps the mess was some complex system of organization after all. Or perhaps Gerard cared not what he read, so long as he was reading.

Gerard sat on his usual end of the couch and set the books on the floor beside his feet, and Frank took advantage of the situation to sprawl out with his feet in Gerard’s lap. Gerard grumbled a little, and scratched at the bottom of his feet while Frank giggled and kicked, but he leaned back and flipped open a book, propping it on Frank’s ankles.

It wasn’t until he commenced to read aloud that Frank realized it wasn’t one of the deep tomes of philosophy or discovery Gerard was so terribly fond of, but a novel of piratical adventures. Also, Gerard was _reading_ to him.

He must have looked particularly goggle-eyed, because Gerard glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes and stopped, licking his lips. “Is this alright? I thought. I know you don’t care for books, but. We can share, this way.” Frank couldn’t stop staring, and Gerard flushed a deep red and closed the book. “I’m sorry. It was just. It was foolish, I’ll--”

Frank prodded Gerard’s belly with his foot, making Gerard make a most ungentlemanly “oof” sound. “Don’t you dare stop. I want to hear about the pirates.”

“That’s no reason for violence,” Gerard said, snippily, but his flush was fading to a pleased pink, and he flipped the book back open. After a pause, he began to read again.

Frank tilted his head back against the arm of the couch, looking up at the ceiling and listening to Gerard’s voice. They hadn’t taken a honeymoon, because it was a marriage of convenience--how it was convenient for Gerard, Frank had been unable to see then. Now he suspected that a wild child was precisely what Gerard’s parents had wanted to give their shy son--and not worth the time and money spent. Perhaps they could return to some of the tropical countries he had been to before. He would love to show Gerard the jungle, the sea, anything and everything he’d read about, and Gerard could tell him stories, spend long hours babbling about this or that theory and the newest papers. There was nothing in the world, Frank thought, smiling, that they couldn’t figure out, between the two of them.


End file.
